Grandpa
by Ivytree
Summary: BtVS and AtS converge; Gunn and Fred visit Sunnydale; Spike visits L.A. and comes to terms with Angel, Buffy, Dawn, and his bright, shiny soul; Chapter 7 added. COMPLETE. Slightly revised 7/12/02
1. Under the Gallows

Title: GRANDPA  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: The ends of BtVS 6 and AtS 3 come together; not angsty, really!  
Setting: The near future; say, August  
  
----------------------------------------------------  
  
GRANDPA Part 1. Under the Gallows  
  
"Go away!" Spike bellowed from the depths of his chair. Whoever it was kept knocking and knocking 'til it was driving him 'round the bend. It couldn't be her, anyway. She never knocked. He poured more bourbon into his mug of blood, though it wasn't helping much anymore. Instead of getting good and drunk, now he got drunk and felt obscurely guilty at the same time.   
  
Not going to think about that.  
  
"Clem! Leave me alone!" he yelled towards the door of his crypt. He'd been back in Sunnydale for three weeks, and he'd hardly left this room. He was NOT brooding; just needed to get acclimated, was all. Sure things looked a little different, but it wasn't that big a change. He wasn't worried. Just needed to settle in a bit, that was it; didn't need to see anyone or get involved in big explanations yet. Or apologies.   
  
The maddening knocking continued. "Bloody hell!" he exploded, bounding to the door in a flash and wrenching it open. "What the bleeding hell do you mean by..." he began.   
  
Two complete strangers stood in the twilight, looking at him uncertainly.  
  
One was a large and muscular young black man with a shaved head, and the other a very slight young woman with long flowing dark hair and enormous eyes. They weren't vamps or anything. Just people.  
  
They gawked at each other for a moment.   
  
"Spike?" the girl said, in a sort of reedy voice.  
  
He realized he was gaping at her, and shut his mouth. He ran his hands over his hair, which hadn't been combed in a week. He squinted at the girl.  
  
"Do I know you?" he said.  
  
"Well, no," she said more confidently in a slightly twangy accent. She sort of reminded him of someone, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "We know OF you. We sort of have a mutual friend. Had. Or have, I hope. Am I making sense?"  
  
"Not really," The young man said fondly.  
  
Spike stared at them. He realized that something was going on here but he had no idea what it was. Another drink might help.  
  
"What do you want?" he said baldly.  
  
"Can we come in?" asked the girl, in a disconcertingly friendly tone of voice. "It's kinda complicated."  
  
"Might as well; my schedule isn't exactly overbooked," he sighed, and waved them in. "Pull up a chair. What can I do for you?"  
  
"We need your help," the girl said earnestly, perching on the arm of his second-best chair. Obviously, she didn't get he was being sarcastic.   
  
"Look, baby, let's start from the beginning," the guy said. "My name is Gunn, and this is Fred -"  
  
"Winifred," she said, smiling and holding out a thin little hand.   
  
Rather dazedly, Spike shook it, and realized they weren't in the least afraid of him. But they must know what he was - what he was still - he lived in a crypt, dammit. In a sodding graveyard. They knew his name (which still counted for something). He collapsed back into his chair, lit a cigarette, and looked at them blankly.  
  
"Am I supposed to know you?" he said.  
  
"Oh, no; we've never seen you. But we know who you are. Or were. You know, years ago, but now, too."  
  
"We work with Angel," Gunn said.  
  
Angel. That was a name he didn't want to hear. The Vampire with a Soul. The One and Only. The special project of the Powers that Be. No matter what his past crimes - and Spike remembered some of them all too vividly - HIS precious soul came with a get-out-of-Karma-free card. He felt his face twist with bitterness and, oh God, shame. What the hell did these people want with him? His last meeting with Angel had not been all peace, love, and understanding.   
  
On the other hand, if they were going to stake him they would have tried it by now. Anyway, the girl didn't look very dangerous; maybe she was Angel's secretary or accountant or something.  
  
"So," he said in (he hoped) an emotionless tone, gazing at the glowing tip of his cigarette, "how's the Great Poof, then? Still righteous and noble?"  
  
"Well, that's just it. We don't know," Fred said.  
  
He looked at her. Huh?  
  
"He's gone," Gunn said.  
  
Huh? Again.  
  
"That's why we need you."  
  
Huh? One more time.  
  
"Me? What about the cheerleader - what's her name? Ophelia?" he said. "I thought she was all sparkly lights and wacky powers now. Why can't she help you?"  
  
Fred looked distressed. "Cordelia. She's gone, too."   
  
"Isn't one of those big-brain-having Watchers one of your little pseudo-Scooby gang?"  
  
"Wes. He's also gone. And Lorne, our psychic demon friend, too. Gone."  
  
"And Groo," Fred added.  
  
"Right, our super-strong champion from another dimension. Gone."  
  
All right, maybe it was the bourbon, but this was getting weird.  
  
"So what am I s'posed to be able to do for you?"  
  
Fred looked at him with big, soft brown eyes. "You're really our only hope, Spike," she said confidingly. Dawn! It was Dawn she reminded him of, he realized, with her long, silky hair and ingenuous face. Bugger.   
  
"Hope of what?" He knew he wasn't going to like what was coming. But he just couldn't turn away from those eyes.   
  
"To find Angel."  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"Grandfather sang it under the gallows:  
'Hear, gentlemen, ladies, and all mankind:  
Money is good and a girl might be better,  
But good strong blows are delights to the mind.'  
There, standing on the cart,  
He sang it from his heart."  
  
William Butler Yeats 


	2. Had It Not Been

Title: GRANDPA  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: The ends of BtVS 6 and AtS 3 come together  
Setting: The near future; say, August  
----------------------------------------------------  
  
GRANDPA Part 2. Had It Not Been  
  
  
"To find Angel."  
  
Spike looked at Fred impassively, cigarette smoke drifting around his silvery head like mist on some haunted moor. "And why would I want to do that, pet?" he said. "He can stay lost, for all I care."  
  
"We need him! Lots of people need him," Fred cried. "He's helped so many people. You can't imagine what he rescued me from!"  
  
"Listen," Gunn said, giving him a man-to-man look, "at first I didn't believe it either. I sort of had issues with - well, with your kind. But it's true; Angel does a lot of good. People depend on him."  
  
"And I'm supposed to care because -?"  
  
"Well, you're not bad anymore, either," Fred said haltingly, giving him that wide-eyed Dawn look again.   
  
Spike leaped up from his chair, growling. "Who says I'm not -" Then he stopped himself. What was the point, really? This was getting embarrassing. He swung around angrily to tell them to just get out, and found Fred looking at him with - with trust in her eyes. Why the hell should this frail little girl trust a vampire? Did Peaches teach her that? COULD he have?  
  
"You haven't killed anyone in years," she continued, reasonably. "That counts for something."   
  
"Hey, I almost - I could've - oh, bugger it." He flung himself back down again, deflated. How did she know that, anyway? "Have you lot been keeping tabs on me?"  
  
"Well, Wes has; he thinks you're majorly weird," Gunn replied.   
  
Spike rubbed his hands over his face. He was almost sober. Damn. "So you two come all the way to the Hellmouth from LaLa Land, for MY help, because you've lost a vampire, two demons, a dimensional traveler, and a Watcher, and I'M weird?"   
  
"Okay, point taken," Fred said. "But really. You're the only one we can turn to."  
  
"Why do you want him back?" Spike asked, with real curiosity (not unmixed with malice, true). Why were these two human youngsters so keen on old Peaches? "What for? You found me all by yourselves. You seem to be fairly bright, and you look like you can handle yourselves in a fight. Why do you need Angel to do whatever it is you lot do?"  
  
"He can fight like no one else can; he has knowledge no one else has - "  
  
"And he's our friend, and we love him," Fred interrupted. "We're afraid something really bad happened, and he's hurt or in pain; we need to help him."   
  
"He's been through an awful lot lately - an awful lot. More than anyone should have to take. We can't just let him go like this," Gunn agreed.  
  
"You'd know if he was dead, wouldn't you? 'Cause he's your sire and everything?"  
  
"He's not my bloody sire!" Spike snapped. "Why do you people always think that?"  
  
"Okay, grand-sire, then," Gunn said. "It's sorta the same thing, isn't it?"  
  
Spike closed his eyes. "No, it really isn't," he answered with exaggerated patience.  
  
"But you'd know, right?" Fred persisted. "If he was dead?"  
  
"I probably would, as a matter of fact." He had to admit it.  
  
"And is he?" Gunn was trying to be the macho man here, but his voice was anxious.   
  
Spike thought about it. Was Peaches really gone? "No," he said. He knew Dru wasn't dead, either, and couldn't help being glad, though he certainly wouldn't mind never seeing her again. He wondered if Angel could sense him as well; there was a gruesome thought.  
  
"See?" Fred bounced a little. "I knew it!"  
  
"So what do you want from me?" Spike said again.  
  
"Well, look, we know where he was going when he disappeared," Gunn said. He was the practical one, apparently. "We know where he left his car. Maybe if we take you there, you'd get some feel for where he went. That's all. Just point us in the right direction."   
  
"We won't take up too much of your time, really," Fred said urgently, evidently without a scrap of irony.   
  
He puffed grimly on his cigarette for a few moments, trying not to look at her. He knew she was watching breathlessly for his reply. Something inside him hurt for these damn kids; sympathy, probably. Balls, he thought. He was going to do it. What a ponce. What a git. What a complete wanking fool.  
  
"Okay," he said.  
  
"Yesss!" Gunn said jubilantly. "THANK you!"  
  
"L.A. here we come!" Fred beamed at him. "You won't regret it, I promise!"  
  
Spike said, "I already regret it."  
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
  
"WITH antecedents;  
With my fathers and mothers, and the accumulations of past ages;  
With all which, had it not been, I would not now be here, as I am."  
  
Walt Whitman 


	3. Friends and Foes

Title: GRANDPA  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: The ends of BtVS 6 and AtS 3 come together  
Setting: The near future; say, August  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
GRANDPA Part 3. Friends and Foes  
  
  
Spike stood on the flat hilltop looking out at the moonlit sea. Nearby was a storage shed with 'Dune Point' painted on it. He took a drag on his cigarette, as Gunn and Fred watched anxiously.  
  
"He was here, all right," he said.  
  
Following Angel's trail had been an unsettling experience - because he COULD sense him, and what's more he could sense his emotions. He'd forgotten that little detail. When he first knew Angelus, so many years ago, sensing his emotions was a skill he'd discovered early. Came in handy if you wanted to survive.   
  
But this was different. This was awful. Joyous anticipation, frustration, surprise, pain, rage, resignation, love, horror, forgiveness - it was appalling. Sympathy and understanding - for HIM. It made him feel like insects were crawling under his skin; it nauseated him.   
  
"He's not too far away," he said. "He's alive, but he's - maybe he's meditating, or something."  
  
Gunn came closer. "Which way? Can you tell which way he went?"  
  
Spike tossed away his glowing cigarette end in a sprinkle of sparks and ground it out deliberately with his boot.   
  
"Down," he said, heading for the precipice, "he went down."  
  
He scrambled rapidly down the steep, sandy hillside, rolling part way and righting himself just in time to avoid a nasty big rock. Then he clambered down more slowly, holding onto tufts of seagrass. Finding the Broody One had become very important to him, he didn't know why. There was a painful sense of urgency building in his chest, and he hated it. He'd just locate the bastard, tell the kiddies where to look, and bugger off. No need for family reunions. No need to actually see him.   
  
The mysterious pull he'd been following guided him to the water's edge. The moon was huge and white, glittering on the empty, shifting, roaring waves. He simply waited for them to come, those two kids who loved Angel so much. Looking at the sea now, he knew what had happened. He didn't know how it did, or who made it happen - what sort of creature could even imagine such a thing? - but he knew where Angel was. Cold, black, coffined - helpless. He had to struggle to repress a shiver.   
  
Gunn ran up beside him, and bent over, hands on knees, to catch his breath.   
  
"Wait up, man!" he panted. "Where to now? Which way did he go?"   
  
Spike raised his arm and pointed straight out to sea.   
  
"Ship ahoy, mate!" he said, as Gunn stared in consternation. "You're gonna need some serious equipment."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Actually, Spike had underestimated the kids' resources. Gunn's uncle was a tugboat captain, and he could get plenty of winching and hauling equipment onboard. All very well, but -  
  
"It's too deep for that," Spike said confidently. He knew EXACTLY where Old Granddad was at this point. "You'll need somebody down there to look around."  
  
Fred and Gunn shared a glance of dismay.   
  
"Know any divers?" Gunn asked hopefully. Eyes wide, she shook her head, her silky hair spilling over her shoulders.   
  
"There weren't any in Pylea," she said, whatever that meant.  
  
"What about all those hopeless you've helped?" Spike suggested. "Any satisfied customers of the non-human variety? Silkies? Mermaids?"  
  
Gunn perked right up. Damn, these kids were resilient. "Hey, you know, there was a mer-man; remember?" he asked Fred. "He was sorta blue-green."   
  
"That's right! With little flippy things," she said happily. "His pool was haunted - Angel tricked the ghost into leaving -"  
  
"Right - we thought it would end in ass-kicking, but the Big Guy ended up using stealth - like, who'd suspect that?" Gunn laughed at the memory. Then he sobered, looking at Spike. "We'll call him."  
  
"I'll wait here," Spike said, his eyes on the sea. "Back before sunrise, right?"   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
It was 2 a.m. The deck of Gunn's Uncle Jack's tugboat rumbled roughly beneath Spike's feet. He stood in the bow, looking straight ahead. He couldn't see anything but water, but he could feel Angel's presence, closer and closer. He closed his eyes and concentrated, smoking.   
  
Wally, the mer-man, sat on a crate, serenely watching the waves. In ordinary street clothes he hardly stood out, in LA at least, but without them his gleaming, greenish-blue body and many "little flippy things" looked definitely odd. When they reached the spot - wherever it was - he would go down and reconnoiter. "Glad to do it," he'd said; "hell, my kids were afraid of the water until Angel helped us out. I was at my wit's end; I mean, where'd we be without water? Didn't charge an arm and a fin, either."  
  
Gunn and Fred found a secluded spot and clung together. The possibility of success was almost more frightening than failure at this point.  
  
"When we find him - do you think he'll be okay?" Fred whispered.  
  
"Don't see how he can be; something really bad went down. And he's been locked up in there for months. He's gonna be hurting, I guess." They'd come supplied with blood, clothing, and blankets, but no one could imagine the state Angel would be in.  
  
"Spike says he's meditating or in a trance, maybe."  
  
"Better than being conscious."  
  
Fred shuddered, and pressed her face against his shoulder. "It's so horrible," she said. "Who could have done it?"  
  
"Need I even say the words Wolfram & Hart?"  
  
"But why? What's the point?"  
  
"I don't know, but they've got the means - and who else could it be?"   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Suddenly there was a bellow from the prow, and they saw Spike wave his arm. Wally rose to his feet in one smooth movement.  
  
"Stop!" Spike yelled. "He's here! Right here!"  
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
  
"DARK, deep, and cold the current flows  
Unto the sea where no wind blows,  
Seeking the land which no one knows.  
  
O'er its sad gloom still comes and goes  
The mingled wail of friends and foes,  
Borne to the land which no one knows.  
  
Why shrieks for help yon wretch, who goes  
With millions, from a world of woes,  
Unto the land which no one knows?  
  
Though myriads go with him who goes,  
Alone he goes where no wind blows,  
Unto the land which no one knows.  
  
For all must go where no wind blows,  
And none can go for him who goes;  
None, none return whence no one knows.  
  
Yet why should he who shrieking goes  
With millions, from a world of woes,  
Reunion seek with it or those?"  
  
Ebenezer Elliott 


	4. Sea-Change

Title: GRANDPA  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: The ends of BtVS 6 and AtS 3 come together  
Setting: The near future; say, August  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
GRANDPA Part 4. Sea-Change  
  
  
It was cold, dreadfully cold. Spike followed the undulating fins of the mer-man deeper and deeper. Between them, they would attach a chain to the metal coffin where Angel lay imprisoned, and the powerful winch on Uncle Jack's tug would pull it from its silent resting place.   
  
He hated this. He hated being here, and the swelling ache that made him do this thing for a being he'd loathed for a hundred years. And he had no intention of reconciling or forgiving or any of that bollocks, soul or no sodding soul. Fred could look at him with great sincere eyes 'til the end of the world. He hated the water, the frigid temperature, the darkness, the silence. And to top it off, the humans were gathered above on the dry, safe deck of the tug, peering helplessly down into the inhospitable sea, just waiting.   
  
Wally signaled him with a webbed hand (really, he looked like the Creature from the Black Lagoon from the neck down) and they began work on the oblong box. Fortunately, there were obvious rings for the chain to go through - that must have been how it got down here in the first place - so attaching it was not impossible. It was tedious, though, and although Spike didn't have to breathe, he LIKED to; his chest felt crushed and his bones ached with the damned cold. He promised himself a nice, dry cigarette when he returned to the tug.  
  
Finally they finished and could head towards the surface again. Spike lost sight of Wally in the blackness, but after a brief moment of actual panic realized he could just follow the chain.   
  
After an endless struggle upwards, his head finally broke the water; he took in a huge, unnecessary lungful of air, followed instantly by a coughing fit. The moon was very low in the sky, full and bright; it must be after four a.m. If they were going to decant a dormant vampire tonight, they'd better get a move on. With exasperation, he saw Fred, silly little bird, jumping up and down and waving to him like this was a day out at the beach and he'd just gone for a dip. He waved back, and made for the boat.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Once the sarcophagus was on board their next task was to open it. Uncle Jack had a lot of equipment, but it didn't include heavy-duty metal cutters. Spike was cold, tired, hungry, and prey to an inexplicable, grinding anxiety that was getting very annoying. He was a fool to come; he wanted this adventure over, so he could go back to his own crypt and forget it ever happened. Forget these feelings. Forget everything.   
  
"Right," he said impatiently, after examining the container, "Jack - sledgehammer?"   
  
Uncle Jack nodded and went to fetch it.   
  
Gunn watched him with speculation. "What are you going to do?"   
  
"Get the bleeding thing open," Spike said grimly. "Now."  
  
Wally, Jack, and Gunn held the coffin steady with all their strength as Spike swung the heavy hammer in a huge arc, bringing it down against the side of a bolt-head at one corner. It sheared clean off.  
  
"All right!" Gunn said. "Go, super-strength!"   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Spike sank to the floor of the cabin, his knees drawn up and his back against the wall, benumbed with cold and so bone-weary he didn't think he could stand. He'd had enough. At least he was relatively dry, in jeans and a too-big flannel shirt of Jack's (mercifully a dark color). He rested his head between his hands, vaguely pressing the seawater out of his hair and trying not to shiver.  
  
The other men carried Angel in and put him on the bunk, as Fred hovered solicitously. He was certainly not conscious, Old Granddad. He was a lot thinner than Spike remembered, though by no means emaciated - a vamp could stay in a state of dormancy for a pretty long time. Waking him up might be a problem, though.   
  
Fred was all for just holding a mug of blood in front of his face. Gunn vetoed that as too dangerous.  
  
"Straw," Spike heard himself mumble.  
  
They all turned to look at him. "Huh?" Gunn said.  
  
"Try a straw. Easier for him to swallow that way, with something to suck on. More natural for 'im."   
  
There was a pause. He could see Fred think of and dismiss a dozen comments that would have drawn attention to associations they all preferred not to make just now. She was an intelligent girl. "Okay," she said eventually.  
  
It seemed to work. The Old Man didn't open his eyes, but he did drink. After one mugful, Fred turned to Spike again for advice. "More?" she asked.  
  
"Not yet. Let 'im rest. Might wake up on his own."  
  
"Sun'll be coming up soon - we'd better cover the windows," Gunn suggested.  
  
"Portholes, dammit," said Uncle Jack.  
  
Spike leaned his head against the wall and watched as the three humans and one mer-man carefully blacked out the cabin to protect their friend, the vampire, against the sun's rays. It was outlandish, really. He didn't know why it made his throat ache. He was just tired, probably.   
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"FULL fathom five thy father lies:  
Of his bones are coral made;  
Those are pearls that were his eyes:  
Nothing of him that doth fade  
But doth suffer a sea-change  
Into something rich and strange.  
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:  
Hark! now I hear them,-  
Ding-dong, bell."  
  
Shakespeare, A Sea Dirge 


	5. The Unfathomable Sea

Title: GRANDPA  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: The ends of BtVS 6 and AtS 3 come together  
Setting: The near future; say, August  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
GRANDPA Part 5. The Unfathomable Sea  
  
  
Jack poked his head around the door. "Good for what ails ya," he said, furtively holding out a bottle. Spike took it. Bloody brilliant; rum, the sailor's tipple. 'Old Blackbeard.' In fact, the pirate on the label looked just like Jack, except he wasn't African-American. And Jack didn't have an eyepatch.  
  
"You're a wise man, Cap'n Jack," he said.  
  
"Just don't tell the little girl I gave it to you," Jack said. "You know how women are."  
  
"Too bleeding right. Thanks."  
  
"Be dark in another hour. Kids should be back with transport soon."  
  
"Thanks, mate."  
  
"No problem." The door closed behind him.  
  
It was snug in the cabin of Jack's boat, and dark as night with all the portholes covered. One small desk lamp gave off a yellow glow. Spike had spent the daylight hours dozing in a nest of blankets on the floor, across from an unconscious Angel. Fred periodically came in and insisted he drink a mug of heated blood, and he did it just to keep her from fussing; she was clearly a champion fusser. It had taken a few hours of chugging to reach the docks. The tug (named Marvella after Gunn's auntie) was sturdy but not exactly a fast mover ("just like Marvella," Jack said). Now they were moored and the engines still.   
  
After a day's rest Spike felt a little more in control of himself. He unscrewed the bottle cap and took a long fiery swallow. That was definitely better; nothing like rum for breakfast. He lit one more cigarette and thought about getting up.   
  
He glanced at Angel, unmoving on the bunk. Still nothing. It was better than hysterics, he supposed - or insanity. He'd witnessed Angelus on a full-bore rage-maddened rampage, and it wasn't something these people should see. Well, nothing to do but wait, he supposed. He let his thoughts drift - to Sunnydale - did she even knew he was gone -  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
With a sudden cry, Angel sat bolt upright, glaring wildly at Spike.   
  
"Jaysus, boy, you look like hell itself!" he exclaimed.  
  
"Well, you're no oil painting right now, Gaffer," Spike replied, exhaling smoke and wondering warily what the Irish accent meant.   
  
Angel took in the gentle rocking of the tug. "Where the hell are we, at sea?" he said.  
  
"In a manner of speaking." That could mean any number of things. They'd taken a lot of sea voyages in the old days.  
  
"Where's -" he began. He would never know whom exactly Angel was going to ask for, because all of a sudden he could see it all come rushing back. Angel's face whitened, and his shadowed eyes filled horror. "Oh, God, no!" he gasped, flinching.  
  
Spike decided enough was enough. He didn't want to see that much pain. He clambered to his feet and bellowed out the door, "Oi! You lot! He's awake!"  
  
There was the sound of rapid footsteps. From the hallway, Fred asked tensely, "Is he all right?"  
  
"Seems to be. Knows who I am, knows where he is."  
  
"Oh, Angel!" Fred rushed in. She stopped short, dashing tears from her face with the back of her hand. "I knew we'd find you. We came as soon as we could; I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry it wasn't sooner - I can't believe you're really here."   
  
"Hey, man," Gunn said gently, clasping her hand tightly in his. "How you feeling?"  
  
Spike backed out of the room.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
The crisp salty air cooled his face. He couldn't watch them comforting Angel, reassuring him, offering their love; it twisted something inside him. He gripped the bow railing, closed his eyes and listened to the hypnotic sound of the waves, willing the churn of emotions in his breast to settle the hell down. After a while he felt calm return - until he heard a footstep he knew.   
  
"Spike," Angel said.  
  
"'Lo, Peaches." With an effort, Spike pulled himself together, and gave him the ghost of a cocky grin. "Up and about already?"  
  
Angel leaned against the railing. He was weak and still pretty confused, and there were black gaps in his memory he knew were hiding anguish he wasn't ready to face. But the last time he saw Spike - wasn't it the last time? - they had not parted friends. In fact, he'd gotten the definite impression that Spike hated him worse than almost anyone.   
  
"Fred and Gunn tell me I owe you my life," he said slowly.   
  
"Don't mention it." Spike lit up a fag. The last thing he wanted was gratitude from his grand-sire.   
  
"Why?" Angel said simply. It didn't make sense. "Why did you do it?" Spike was evil. But didn't he look - different? Worn and sort of battered, not so insolent. And he was wearing a flannel shirt.   
  
"Guess it's that little bird you've got on your team. Could twist anyone 'round her finger," Spike said thoughtfully. He always had a weakness for girls like that; they usually liked him, too. "Reminds me of my sister."   
  
Angel was momentarily distracted by surprise. "I never knew you had a sister."  
  
A flicker of triumph flashed in Spike's hard blue eyes. "No, you never did, did you?"   
  
"But that doesn't explain - " he began, looking at Spike clearly for the first time. Wait - who the hell was this, again? He looked like Spike but he sure didn't feel like Spike. Still no heartbeat, but otherwise he felt just like a - no - no, it couldn't be -  
  
Spike shifted uneasily under Angel's suddenly enlightened, shocked stare.  
  
"Shut up," he said.  
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"THE UNFATHOMABLE sea, and time, and tears,  
The deeds of heroes and the crimes of kings  
Dispart us; and the river of events  
Has, for an age of years, to east and west  
More widely borne our cradles. Thou to me  
Art foreign, as when seamen at the dawn  
Descry a land far off and know not which.  
So I approach uncertain; so I cruise  
Round thy mysterious islet, and behold  
Surf and great mountains and loud river-bars,  
And from the shore hear inland voices call.  
Strange is the seaman's heart; he hopes, he fears;  
Draws closer and sweeps wider from that coast;  
Last, his rent sail refits, and to the deep  
His shattered prow uncomforted puts back."  
  
Robert Louis Stevenson 


	6. Though It Were Done Before

Title: GRANDPA  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: The ends of BtVS 6 and AtS 3 come together  
Setting: The near future; say, August  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
GRANDPA Part 6. Though It Were Done Before  
  
  
"Shut up," Spike said. "Just shut up."  
  
Angel looked dazed. "How did it happen? Come up against some Gypsies?"  
  
Spike drew himself up and faced him. "I fought for it, and I won it," he said.  
  
"You did it deliberately? You chose it?" Spike had always been a maniac - once he got his teeth into something, so to speak, he'd never stop; but this was unbelievable. What could have spurred him to do such a thing? God, what must the cost have been? And WHY would he do it? "Are you insane?"   
  
"Not so far, though I'm beginning to wonder," Spike answered, taking a drag on his cigarette, and breathing out a slow stream of smoke. "I bloody well didn't figure on a voyage to the bottom of the sea straight off."  
  
Angel belatedly realized he was supposed to be grateful, not exasperated. One way or another, family life hadn't been working out well for him lately. And he WAS grateful.   
  
"Look, Spike - " It was hard to think of the right thing to say; his head was spinning. He'd just never heard of a vampire voluntarily seeking a soul. He instantly suppressed the thought of consulting Wes; but this must have upset innumerable metaphysical applecarts. It must have been pretty damn tough for Spike, too.   
  
"So how you holding up?" he said.  
  
"S'all right. Could've been worse."  
  
"How long's it been?"  
  
"Couple of months."  
  
"Need anything?"   
  
"No, I'm good, thanks."  
  
"Well, I guess you are," Angel said with a faint grin. "I never thought I'd say THAT."  
  
"Don't go telling anyone, alright? It's not like there's a disturbance in the Force or anything."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You don't even try to keep up, do you, Grandpappy? I mean, it's not a big cosmic deal; no one has to know."  
  
"Don't be too sure about that. I'd keep my eyes open for prophecies, if I were you. Um - 'Grandpappy'?"  
  
"Well, the tug, y'know, reminded me of Popeye."  
  
"Oh. Right. 'Strong to the finish.'" That was one cultural reference he did get. See, he was hip. "Don't call me that."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
They all gathered to see Spike off. Wally was giving him a lift back to Sunnydale in his PT Cruiser. Angel and his friends had a lot of work to do, but he needed to get back. To get home.  
  
"If you want to stay -" Angel began.  
  
"Can't. I've got other people - "   
  
" - to help. I know. Well, you know where we are."  
  
Gunn gripped his hand strongly, and said, "Seriously, man, you ever need anything, you know we're here for you."  
  
"Same here. Anything sea-going, you call me, hear?" Uncle Jack clapped him on the shoulder.   
  
"I feel like I'm going back to Kansas," Spike observed. "Which one of you lot needs the brain, again?"   
  
"I guess that's me!" Fred said, throwing her arms around his neck and giving him a hug.   
  
He held her slight body close for a moment. "I think I'm going to miss you most of all," he whispered in her ear.  
  
He released her, and she turned to Gunn, tears in her eyes. Spike paused to exchange one more glance and a nod with his grandsire, and then he got in the car.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Two weeks later, Buffy unlocked her front door and heard Dawn's voice. She deduced her sister was talking on the phone, and was preparing her stern guardian face when Dawn saw her from the kitchen and motioned frantically for her to come nearer.   
  
"Okay, can you hold on a minute? 'Cause she just came in," she said rapidly into the receiver. Then she covered the mouthpiece with her hand and whispered in agitation, "Buffy, Buffy! Come quick!"  
  
"Who is it?" Buffy said, keeping her voice low.  
  
"It's like that girl at Angel's, Fred?" Dawn gabbled. "And it's about Spike! She says they've got something for Spike, and we have to give it to him! And Angel was in trouble and he went there to help Angel and he like did all this stuff for them and he's this big hero now and they like love him and everything!"  
  
Unable to untangle this recitation, Buffy took the phone. Dawn squirmed with frustration as she listened to one side of the conversation.  
  
"Hi! This is Buffy. Can we help with something? Uh-huh. Oh, no. Is he okay now? How's Cordelia? Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." There was a long pause. Dawn could hear Fred's slightly Southern inflections rambling on, and the rumble of a man's voice in the background pointing out important details she'd missed. Buffy's face was stiff with shock but she was making every effort to be very patient and polite. "So Spike was there with you? How did -? Oh. Uh-huh. Oh. Wow. No, he doesn't really have an address, officially. Yes, I can make sure he gets it. No, really, it's no trouble. Thanks for calling. Please give him our best. Bye."  
  
Buffy hung up the phone. She and Dawn looked at each other wordlessly for a moment.   
  
Dawn was thrilled. She'd missed Spike so much, and she'd been waiting for a chance make friends with him again. This certainly looked like it. Buffy had explained what happened between them - not in detail, of course; but she said it was as much her fault as Spike's. And also that it was none of Xander's business, or anyone else's. She wasn't really sure why Buffy still felt so shy about at least going to his crypt to see if he was back after all these months, but she wouldn't, and wouldn't let Dawn go herself, either. She said HE might not want to see THEM, which Dawn didn't quite get.   
  
"So what are we gonna do?" she said, restraining her excitement.  
  
Buffy picked the phone up again, and dialed a number. "Hi, Sophie? This is Buffy. Would you get a message to Clem?"  
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"WILT thou forgive that sin, where I begun,  
Which is my sin, though it were done before?  
Wilt thou forgive those sins through which I run  
And do run still, though still I do deplore?  
When thou has done, thou hast not done,   
For, I have more.  
  
Wilt thou forgive that sin, by which I've won  
Others to sin, and made my sin their door?  
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun  
A year or two, but wallowed in a score?  
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,  
For I have more."  
  
John Donne 


	7. The Larger Kind

Title: GRANDPA  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: The ends of BtVS 6 and AtS 3 come together  
Setting: The near future; say, August  
  
A/N: This story is all about Spike taking his soul out for a spin, not about Angel, so we're not going to solve Angel's problems. There might well be a sequel, though; Spike and Wally really hit off!   
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
GRANDPA Part 7. The Larger Kind  
  
  
"Bloody hell!" Spike stood in the doorway of the Magic Box and looked around. "Must've been quite a mess."  
  
"Yes, but believe it or not, we're insured," Anya said. "So we're rebuilding. Come on in, I've got your package here." Actually, Buffy had accepted the mysterious package from LA and brought it personally for Spike to pick up, but she didn't want him to know that.  
  
He closed the door behind him, saying, "Sorry about that, pet; guess they just didn't know how else to reach me. Won't happen again."   
  
"I don't mind." Anya smiled at him, and handed him a box about two feet long by one wide. As she saw him clearly, her face changed. "Spike! How did -"  
  
He gave her a warning - and imploring - look, as he noticed two other people standing uncertainly in the training room doorway.  
  
They all stared at each other.   
  
"Hey, Spike!" Dawn said.  
  
He pulled himself together. This had to happen sometime.  
  
"Hello, Niblet," he greeted her cautiously. "How are you?"  
  
"'K."  
  
"Hi," Buffy said.   
  
"Slayer." He nodded in her direction. "Sorry 'bout Tara, and Red. Don't think I could've done much even if I'd been here."  
  
"No," Buffy said, smiling faintly. "All the baddies were human this time."  
  
Dawn was tired of all this awkwardness.   
  
"Aren't you gonna open your present?" she chirped. "D'you know what it is?"  
  
"Haven't a clue," he said. He was pretty curious, in fact. The box wasn't heavy, and was clearly stamped 'Fragile' on all sides. There was also an 'Angel Investigations' logo.  
  
"Please, go ahead." Anya had set up a sturdy folding table where the counter used to be. "Over here."  
  
Spike set his package down carefully and began to unwrap it. Dawn went right over to see what it was, and Anya moved closer, but Buffy hung back.   
  
No one knew - with Willow gone away, who could she tell? - but very soon after Spike left, Buffy had begun to dream about him; in her dreams he was somehow a 'real' guy, the kind of guy she'd always wanted. He was sweet and loving, and in her dreams she treated him with tenderness and respect. Maybe it was her subconscious apologizing. She knew she'd foolishly fallen half in love with this dream-Spike; that's why she was afraid to see the actual Spike. She was deeply ashamed of the way she'd behaved towards him; she still couldn't bear to think of some of the things she'd done and said. But his hands and mouth, the sounds he made, the cool, silky, rough feel of his cheek against hers, his strong shoulders under her hands, were as fresh in her mind as if she had felt them last night. Which in a way she had. And now, just as she'd feared, the real Spike couldn't even look at her. It was humiliating.  
  
"Oh, wow! It's a little ship!" she heard Dawn exclaim, and curiosity overcame her embarrassment. She went to see what the fuss was all about.   
  
"Boat," Spike corrected Dawn. "It's a tugboat." He held up a model of the Marvella, admiring it from all sides.   
  
"Who are all those little people?" Anya asked.  
  
"Ooh! I get it! The one with the white hair's you!" Dawn exclaimed. "And who's that with the hair sticking up?"  
  
"Must be Angel. And the blue one's Wally." Wally's figure had clearly been adapted from a model of the Creature.  
  
Other little painted forms represented Captain Jack, Gunn, and Fred, and there was a suitably ominous oblong box and a tiny coiled chain on the deck. Buffy heard Spike catch his breath; on the side of the little ship - boat - the name 'Marvella' was crossed out, and underneath was painted 'Friendship.' She thought she knew him, but she'd never seen such an expression on his face before - amused, proud, humble, moved, just a mite apprehensive, and - happy?  
  
"Is this about what happened in LA?" Dawn asked. "Can you tell us? Is it like a secret or anything?"  
  
He shot Buffy the briefest of glances. "No, but could be you've got places to go - " he suggested.   
  
Suddenly Buffy made a decision - she wasn't going to be such a damned coward anymore. She sat down in one of the folding chairs at the table.   
  
"No, we'd like to hear, really," she said firmly. Dawn suppressed a squeal, and sat down too.  
  
For a moment, Spike studied the three lovely girls, all watching him with sincere and sympathetic interest. Then he had to clear his throat for some reason. "Well, then," he began, "Seems the Old Man has some right vicious enemies..."  
  
  
END  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"First, would I have you know, for every gift  
Or sacrifice, there are-or there may be-  
Two kinds of gratitude: the sudden kind  
We feel for what we take, the larger kind  
We feel for what we give. Once we have learned  
As much as this, we know the truth has been  
Told over to the world a thousand times;-  
But we have had no ears to listen yet..."  
  
Edwin Arlington Robinson 


End file.
